


Crashing

by TalentedLoser



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Angst, Character Death, Gen, Implied Lockbell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalentedLoser/pseuds/TalentedLoser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was flying to London. He was supposed to get to his family and stay there for a few days, then come back home. She was not supposed to hear screaming in the background when he called her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crashing

**Author's Note:**

> And if the plane goes down,  
> Or if the crew can’t wake me up,  
> Well, just know that I’m alright--  
> I was not afraid to die.
> 
> Note: This fic has a major character death. You have been warned.

He was halfway over the Atlantic when the airplane jerked.

No one on the plane—not even he—looked up. He was staring at the tray in front of him, thinking about the family reunion he was not looking forward to in the slightest. He was thinking about his mother, about her reaction to seeing him off the plane, sober. And he was about to smile when the next jerk happened.

He looked up. The flight attendants did not seem troubled, still passing out food to those awake. The person next to him moved—awake. Then the plane started to shake. The person started to mumble about what was happening, but he kept his eye on the flight attendants, watching one peeking out the window with curious wonder.

A chime was heard. _“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking.”_ His eyes did not leave the flight attendant, who was standing in place and moving her head around. He looked out his own window for a moment, and noticed the height they had. _“We are experiencing some minor turbulence over the ocean.”_ He looked back to the attendant, who was smiling down at those in the aisle. They were probably asking her a question about the turbulence.

She did her best to hide her worry, but when the third jerk caused her to jolt against the passenger, her fear was evident.

More on the plane started to wake up, and those that were awake—their whispers turned into slight hysteria. Children were starting to cry in fear, mothers tried to keep them calm, and he could hear multiple people putting their seatbelts back on.

He looked out his window; the airplane started to move in every direction, jerking the passengers forward, backward, left, right—then the lights went out. Another chime was heard.

The seatbelt sign flashed on.

Oxygen masks fell.

All around him, there were people screaming, grabbing the masks, pleading to God to let them live.

He took out his phone. If it weren’t for airplane mode, his call would’ve been made sooner.

His leg started to bounce when he put the phone to his ear.

It wasn’t until the second ring when the plane began to nosedive.

0o0

She was in the kitchen. She had, hours ago, left her partner at the airport to go home. He said it would not be long, and knowing him, it was true. It was something to do with his family, and he requested to be able to go alone. She asked why he did not want her there, and his response was: “Well, if Gregson or Marcus need assistance, they will have you.”

So she stayed at Brownstone.

She was chopping lettuce when she heard her phone go off. She wiped her hands on her pants for a second before going over to the phone on the table. She frowned when she read the contact on her phone: Sherlock Holmes. He could not have gotten to England that quickly.

She clicked the green button. Even before she put the phone to her ear, she heard screaming.

Then: _“Watson.”_

She shifted her weight to one side, leaning against the table. She had to put her finger in the other ear, to at least try to hear him. “Sherlock? Where are you?”

It was hard to distinguish his voice from the screaming, but she heard Sherlock quickly reply: _“I’m on the plane. I don’t have much time. Two minutes, maybe.”_

“What’s going on?” She asked.

_“We’re going to crash.”_

She didn’t know whether or not she blinked, whether she was breathing or not, but the next thing she knew, she was in a chair. “Oh my god,” she whispered. Her hand went to her mouth.

She could hear someone near him cry out for God.

_“God save us!”_

Another was screaming something else.

_“We’re going to die!”_

Sherlock, however, was not screaming. He didn’t even seem anxious; he seemed—calm.

_“Watson, listen to me.”_

She didn’t want to believe it. “Sherlock, please tell me you’re jo—”

_“We’re going to hit water soon, in the Atlantic. Something is wrong with the plane.”_ Her hand started to shake. It wasn’t true _. “I need you to call Mycroft. He’ll know what to do from there.”_ It wasn’t true, she kept repeating in her head.

It couldn’t be.

_“Can you do that?”_

She swallowed whatever she could.

“Yes.” And she would. She didn’t know when she could, but she knew she could dial Mycroft about it sooner than later. Then she thought about the others in his life. She thought about the others that would need to be told. “Sherlock, what about the others? What about Marc—”

She heard a heavy breath in the receiver. Was he laughing? _“He knows. And if he doesn’t, you know.”_

She knew.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t know how much longer he had. She had to say something, anything. “Sherlock—”

_“I need you to know that you were exquisite,”_ he said. She stopped talking, and heard his voice start to yell. _“And that I am and was grateful to have you by my side all these years as my one and only partner. I would’ve been lost without my Boswell, more or less.”_

It was his final goodbye.

It was his declaration.

She shook her head. She still couldn’t believe it, and didn’t want to believe it. “Sherlock, don’t talk like that. You could survive, you could…” she started to quiet, listening more and more to the chaos in the background.

Then he spoke: _“Joan.”_

He knew.

And so did she.

Joan felt her eyes burn. She didn’t know what could be said—everything in her head was scrambling to piece something coherent, but it was too sudden.

_“Your gift of silence is enough.”_

Joan opened her eyes and stared down at her lap. How was he so calm? She was safe in their kitchen, had been making a salad, and she was more of a mess than he. Why?

_“I must admit,”_ he started. She clasped the phone with all the might she could have had. It was her lifeline. _“I did not picture myself dying this way. Not alone, at least.”_

She whispered: “You are not alone.”

_“These strangers do not—”_

“I’m here,” she said. His voice stopped. The chaos was starting to become deafening, but she could hear his slightly elevated breathing.

He was scared.

She had to make sure he felt alright.

She just had to.

“I’m here,” she repeated. Her hand fell to her lap, and she grasped a piece of her leg. She closed her eyes.

(Sherlock was leaning against the window of the plane, watching the water get closer and closer. The person next to him grabbed his hand and he looked at them. Their face was up, their eyes were closed. He could feel her nails scratch his skin. He noticed the tears falling. He looked back out the window, seeing the water closing in. He let his head hit his seat. He closed his eyes. Sherlock heard Joan’s plea of being there and pictured it was her in the seat next to him. For once, though, he was grateful it was not, but it was enough.)

She heard the plane’s alarms going off.

She guessed there wasn’t much time left.

She knew.

Joan opened her mouth.

“Sherlock,” she said. “Thank you, for everything. For believing in me, for the times we had, for—”

She would’ve rambled if she had the time. As she was rambling, though, she heard him start to speak.

_“No, Watson,”_ he yelled, _“It should be I thanking yo—”_

There was a large banging noise in her ear.

Then the screaming stopped.

Joan could not breathe. She could only listen to the deafening silence.

“Sherlock?”

The other line had died.


End file.
